


White Wings of Yuletide

by thechestofsilver



Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Albany Era, Christmas, Dancing, First Kiss, M/M, Raffles' sister with family makes an appearance, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-09-28 07:45:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17178746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechestofsilver/pseuds/thechestofsilver
Summary: Christmas is approaching, but spending time together is not always made easy.





	1. Midnight

It was during the fall of ‘93 that my humble career as a writer suddenly took off at surprising speed. One article was lucky to be picked up by one of the greater London magazines; the one led to more requests, and more after that; and I even found myself invited to a few social events, solely due to my success. I had not thought much of the first article myself and, frowning at the excessive attention, expected the whole thing to be over shortly; but Raffles had a different point of view.

“That may very well be so, Bunny; but then all the more reason to strike while you have the opportunity. Having a career of your own—not to mention gaining a bit of fame—is wonderful for the firm! Besides, you have more than earned the attention,” he concluded with a content puff of his Sullivan.

I may not have agreed with that statement; but nevertheless took his advice to heart, and spent many a day and night at my writing desk, being more productive than ever before in my adult life. But though the work was plenty and the money good, I found myself feeling more indifferent towards it by each passing week. It did not satisfy me; and though I hated to admit it, I knew perfectly well the reason for it. But Raffles had taken full responsibility for the burgling business, and I was only to worry about my own. As a result we had been apart much more than I cared for; and so it was that I once again returned alone from the club one dark December night, with damp clothes and a sulky mood, feeling more lonesome than ever. My work burden had lightened a little the past week; but Raffles had been heavily occupied, and now I was beginning to wonder if I would see him at all before Christmas. I stood in front of the mirror, removing my bow tie and contemplating whether sleep or drink was the best aid for my current mood; when suddenly the elevator doors rattled, and a rapid _knock-knock-knock_ followed at my door. I rushed into the hall, nearly tripping over my feet in my excitement—for it could be no other person at this hour—and swung the door open.

“A. J.!”

He was smiling widely, eyes glittering and cheeks rosy.

“My dear boy!” he said, reaching out for my hand.

I pressed it eagerly, and dragged him inside.

“When did you get back?”

“No more than thirty minutes ago. I simply had to see you.”

For a moment we simply stood grinning at each other, like two schoolboys meeting up after the holidays. Raffles was indeed still in his travelling clothes. Tiny drops from the drizzle outside glittered on his indigo coat, and the black curls were windswept under the hat.

“Were you just going to bed?” he said, with a look at my undone bow tie.

“Not at all,” said I quickly, unable to stop smiling. “Come inside—take off your coat, I’ll hang it up to dry… can I offer you a drink?”

“Make it a quick one—I can’t stay long, but I’ll tell you the score of our last match!”

Raffles had managed an invitation to Lord Egerton’s annual charity ball—a prestigious event, held at the Egertons’ country estate, and which always included some of the noblest names in England—and had left with his eyes set on both diamonds and sapphires; but that was all that I knew. Now he gratefully accepted the tumbler I handed him, straddled a chair, and looked at me with twinkling eyes before letting out a hearty laugh.

“Oh, I wish you had been there after all! One whole week of cunning and planning, sweet-talking the housekeeper for details of the house—perfectly innocent curiosity, of course—learning the routines of the guests; of the servants; of the master and mistress, all while being the perfectly amusing guest—and flirting outrageously with Lady Louisa, of course,” he added with a wink. “But it all went down splendidly! I waited till this afternoon, when the tea was to be served in the dining hall, and games were to be played in the ballroom. The servants were all busy, and it was almost too easy to excuse oneself from one room to the next in between games and conversation, and steal a moment or two upstairs to… rearrange certain items. You see, the bags had already been packed, and I imagine the discovery is only being made as we speak.”

“Then I congratulate you,” said I. “But are you sure you’re safe from suspicion?”

“Quite sure,” said Raffles, raising his glass. “You see, there was a train departing the station at 5:42, and there was a fair amount of tickets for that train among Lord Egerton’s guests.”

“And?”

“And the rest will find their belongings perfectly intact.”

I laughed, shaking my head.

“I do wish I had been there, too. Though I can hardly see I would have been of any use.”

“Your company is always of use, Bunny,” he said. “And I am glad to say I shall have it tomorrow evening.”

“What happens then?”

“The Christmas ball at Westfield Manor? I’m sure you haven’t forgotten.”

“Oh—no, of course I haven’t.”

I would rather have done so, however. The prospect of yet another social event did not exactly make me leap with joy, and it was another evening lost to spend with Raffles alone. I observed wistfully as he emptied the glass, and got to his feet.

“Well, I must be going,” he said.

“Must you really?”

“It’s an unnecessary risk holding on to the loot, and I have a meeting at two sharp. I would have liked to show it to you,” he continued as he went to get his coat, and I followed him to the hallway, “but like I said…”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” said I. “Shall I come around for breakfast?”

He frowned as I handed him the hat.

“I’m sorry, Bunny, but I might have some business to tend to—there is a necklace that calls for another buyer, but I’ll have to see… Oh, don’t look so miserable! If nothing else, I shall see you at the dance.”

“And then you’re going to your sister’s,” I stated, failing at sounding more cheerful.

“Only for a few days.”

He put on his coat in silence, and carefully turned the collar up.

“You’re still spending Christmas with your uncle?” said he then, giving me an intent look.

“I am,” said I, not feeling any better at the prospect.

Raffles nodded slowly. Then he started and said:

“Oh, I can’t believe—I nearly forgot…”

He put his hand in his breast pocket, and fished out a golden watch.

“A little bonus I picked off of young Lord James,” he said impishly, dangling it in front of me.

“But you never steal from your host!”

“He made me dislike him,” Raffles said with a shrug. “Besides, his father was my host, not he.”

“What did he do?” I asked.

But Raffles only smiled and bent his head to fasten the chain in my vest; and for some seconds all I knew was his rain-scented curls. I tried to keep still as his fingers worked away.

“There,” he murmured then, gently placing the watch in my hand. “I knew it would suit you better.”

It was a beautiful thing, delicate but solid, with diamonds set in an exquisite enamel pattern on each side. I closed my fingers around it, feeling the smooth surface. The clockwork pulsed steadily against my palm.

“Thank you, A. J.” I said quietly, meeting his eye.

Raffles smiled, almost bashfully; then he put on his hat, and in a brisker tone said:

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Bunny. Sleep well.”

And he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is based on a line from one of my favourite Christmas songs, in Swedish: "Jul, jul, strålande jul (...) sänk dina vita vingar"


	2. Valse

I did not hear a word from Raffles the next day. Despite myself I went round to the Albany, but no-one was there; still, I lingered a few minutes in the faint hope that Raffles would return presently. The familiar surroundings—the orderly shelves, the fountain pen and stationary on the desk, the silly chest in the corner; the fine decanter on the side table, and the forever lingering scent of smoke—only offered so much comfort, and I left feeling more depressed than when I arrived. In the afternoon I received a telegram, saying he would meet me at the dance.

 

* * *

 

Westfield Manor was a sea of lights and fashionable dresses, of men laughing and music flowing from the great hall. A few people greeted me as I arrived—a few more than usual—but I searched anxiously for Raffles and had no interest in casual conversation. At last I spotted him in the hall, talking to a gentleman from the club. Upon seeing me he immediately excused himself.

“Bunny!” he said, hurrying to meet me. “I began to think you weren’t coming!”

I neglected to tell him I nearly had not, and instead mumbled an excuse about having been delayed.

“Well, you’re here now!” he smiled, and snatched me a glass of champagne from a passing tray.

He was just about to say something more, when a young lady with blonde locks and an angelic face appeared. Her dress was costly, and she had the air of someone who had never been denied anything in life.

“Mr Raffles!” she said. “I hope you are not going to ignore me all night?”

“Lady Louisa! Why, I didn’t even know you were here!”

She raised an eyebrow, and said coyly:

“I will forget you said that, as long as you will dance the next dance with me.”

Raffles immediately acquired his most charming and innocent smile—the kind that I knew better than to believe—and bowed to the lady.

“Would you do me the honours,” said he, “of dancing the next dance with me, Lady Louisa?”

“That’s better,” she smiled, and took his arm.

“Have you met my friend, Mr Manders?”

She looked at me with indifference in her blue eyes. I managed a polite smile and said:

“How do you do?”

“Pleasure.”

“Mr Manders is a writer,” said Raffles.

“How wonderful. Mr Raffles,” she continued immediately, batting her eyelashes at him, “I believe this song is coming to an end.”

“Of course it is. I will see you later, Bunny,” he said, before disappearing into the crowd.

Resignedly, I found a spot against the wall, and made it mine for the next hour. Few people took notice of me, but I did not mind. The chatter was loud, the music louder, and the lights bright; but brightest of all was Raffles, where he swept across the floor with the same easiness with which he did everything else. More often than not I let my eyes follow him around the room; a few times he caught my eye, and smiled. I tried to return it, but I imagine it appeared half-hearted.

“Mr Manders?”

A pair of warm eyes greeted me as I turned, along with a smile that I knew well by now.

“Miss Elizabeth! So… you’re here too?” I said stupidly.

She blushed, and I was quick to add:

“It is nice seeing you again.”

“You too, Mr Manders.”

We had met twice during the autumn—each time at a dinner party—and had spent some time in engaging conversation. She was insightful and witty; a little naïve perhaps, but intelligent, and kind-hearted. I found that I liked her, and soon found that she liked me a little too much. Now her eyes darted between myself and the dancing couples as she made small talk, and I wished we had been back at the dinner table.

“Did you come with anyone in particular?” she asked at last.

It was clearly meant to sound casual, but her flickering eyes gave her away. I hesitated for a second, and caught Raffles again on the floor—Lady Louisa was back on his arm.

“No,” said I. “Just by myself.”

Suddenly, I felt exhausted.

“Will you excuse me?” I said.

Before she could barely reply I turned, and rapidly made my way along the wall. The lights were too sharp, the noise unbearable. At the far end a door stood ajar, and I slunk through it out onto a deserted terrace, and into the blissfully embracing night. The curtains on the nearest windows had been drawn, and only allowed for soft beams of light to break through; a string of music seeped through one that had been opened to let the air in; but aside from that, all was still. I crossed the floor, and leaned on the stone railing, gratefully taking a deep breath. The air was getting colder, cleaner; a few stars twinkled above in between fleeting clouds.

“Aren’t you cold?” said a voice quietly.

Startled, I turned around. Raffles was standing by the door: he had come out in his usual soundless fashion.

“I just needed some air.”

He only looked at me in response, and I turned my eyes back on the stars. A moment passed; then he slid up next to me, offering me a Sullivan from his case. I accepted without a word, and for the next few minutes we let the smoke fill the silence.

“Why aren’t you dancing, Bunny?” said Raffles at last.

There was a hint of sadness in his voice. I took another drag before replying.

“I’m not a very skilled dancer.”

“You’re not a bad one. And that girl Elizabeth is only waiting for you to ask her.”

“I don’t want to dance with her.”

He was silent for a moment. Then he continued, playfully:

“You know, quite a few girls have glanced your way during the evening—”

“I just don’t want to, A. J.”

I sensed his intense gaze on me, and refused to meet it. A smattering of applauds announced another dance had come to an end, and soon the first tunes of a new waltz sounded through the open window. Raffles sighed and turned to leave—or so I thought, until I felt the touch of his hand on my shoulder. Slowly, I turned around.

“Will you do me the honours, then?” he said in a low voice.

His eyes glittered; his smile was tentative, and it went straight to my heart.

“Here?” was all I managed.

A hint of mischief came over his face; his hand slid down to catch mine, and I let him lead me out on the stone floor. There he carefully placed his free hand on my waist, and said:

“Just follow my lead.”

And follow him I did, as I always must: a little clumsy at first, but trusting every step was in the right direction.

“Keep clear of that spot, it might be icy… See,” he laughed quietly, “I knew you could do it. Now keep your eyes on me, that’s the trick—never break contact.”

“Alright.”

I met his eye, and the light in it softened. The grip on my hand tightened ever so slightly; we moved a little closer, falling into the rhythm. Then it was all so easy—every turn, every step across the frosty floor; Raffles’ arm around me, in a safe hold; my hand trustingly on his shoulder. On and on we danced, until our hearts beat as one, and the lights from the hall had turned to mist, and the stars in his eyes was all I could see; faster and faster, as the music went on, escalated, guided us, swirled us around like snowflakes in the wind. The final tune struck: we came to a stop. The space between us had closed—I felt Raffles’ pulse against my chest; his breath on my chin, on my lips. Then his lips were on mine, tender and hesitant. I pressed against them, and we were both lost.

Laughter broke the still air. In a second Raffles was by the railing again, fishing out another Sullivan from his case; I had just enough presence of mind to join him before two gentlemen appeared on the terrace.

“Raffles! Are you hiding out here, old chap?” said the first one. “We were just wondering where you had gone to.”

“Just having a smoke,” he replied coolly.

“It’s getting warm as hell in there,” said the other.

How long we were standing there, or what else was said, I do not know. I turned my eyes away, and pretended to admire the garden scenery before us. My head was spinning; my lips were warm still, the taste of tobacco lingering on my tongue. At last the other two decided it was time to join the party again, and as they turned to the door, Raffles turned to me.

“Are you coming, Bunny?” he said—as if nothing out of the ordinary had passed between us.

I could not fathom the expression in his eyes.

“In a minute,” said I.

He lingered a second, then gave a little nod and followed the others. I stood frozen for a minute, stilling my heart; then I took a deep breath, and went inside. The orchestra had taken a break, and the crowd was mingling. I could not spot Raffles anywhere near; and a second later, my vision was once again obscured by the face of Elizabeth.

“Are you feeling quite alright, Mr Manders?” she said. “You took off so suddenly before…”

“I’m sorry,” I said, and tried to smile. “I did not mean to abandon you, I just—”

I glanced around the room, with no luck, then met Elizabeth’s eyes. They were warm, friendly—concerned.

“—I just find crowds this size a little overwhelming.”

“Oh,” she said, with a small laugh. “Well, it’s quite alright. Would you like to go somewhere quieter? I mean, I too feel it rather stifling in here, truth be told,” she added quickly, her cheeks colouring.

The lights glittered in her eyes, shimmered in her hair. Had it been another night—no, another life. But I excused myself one last time, and left the hall. For a minute I fruitlessly wandered around; then I gave it up, and got my coat. I could not think anymore, could not talk to anyone. I exited the doors, quickly made my way down the stairs, down the path towards the gates, and did not slow down until I was on the street. Hesitatingly, I paced the sidewalk. It was properly cold now, and a few snowflakes whisked around in the light breeze. I checked the stolen watch, and found it had stopped—I had forgotten to wind it properly. For a moment the diamonds gleamed alluringly at me; then I put the watch back in my pocket, turned my collar up, and wearily began the walk home along the empty streets.

I had not gone far, when steps were heard behind me, and a voice called out.

“Bunny!”

I turned around to see Raffles coming at me hurriedly, with his overcoat fluttering like a cape. A wave of emotions suddenly threatened to overcome me; but I pushed it down, and waited for him patiently.

“Elizabeth said you had left,” said he when he reached me.

“I couldn’t stand the crowd,” said I, not quite meeting his eye.

I looked at the walking stick in his hand, and the hat in his other, and added:

“Are you leaving?”

“If you are,” he said, placing the hat on his head.

“You should stay. You were enjoying yourself.”

“Who says I was?” he said wearily.

I was silent for a moment, not sure what to say. Raffles’ hand reached out, and touched mine.

“Bunny,” he whispered, pleadingly.

Our eyes met; and instantly, we were as one again. He smiled tenderly as I let my hand fall into his, and he pressed it warmly.

“Mind if I walk with you then?” he said.

“Not at all.”

I took his arm, and we continued into the night. Snow had begun to fall steadily; the streets lay deserted, and the city appeared to be resting at last. It was silent as only winter can be.

“I meant to ask you,” Raffles said at last, when we had reached the dim lights of Piccadilly, “if you would… I would very much like you to come with me to my sister’s for Christmas.”

“Come with you?” I said, with a jolt of the heart. “Won’t they mind?”

“Of course not. Will you come?”

We had stopped under a streetlight, and Raffles’ eyes were achingly fixed on me.

“Of course I will,” said I, and smiled.

Stars twinkled in his eyes again; and when I took his hand, he pulled me into his arms, and held me tight. Then there we stood, under a lamppost on a dark winter’s night, while the snow gently laid its white cover over the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever since I read The Field of Philippi for the first time, I have wanted to fix that ballroom scene for Bunny. So, here it is.


	3. Light

It was with a sigh of content that I closed the book, and stretched my legs out in front of me. The clock on the mantelpiece told of the late hour; but the window was blurry and the outside world dark, and in the hearth the fire still crackled pleasantly. Raffles looked at me from the other end of the sofa, and sent me a smile that made me even more reluctant to leave my comfortable seat.

“Did it end well?” said he.

“As always.”

Unwillingly diverting from the warmth of his gaze, I looked at my pocket watch, and said:

“I better go.”

“Not so soon.”

His hand reached out and closed on mine, so that the lid over the watched closed. I laughed at the pleading face looking up at me.

“It’s nearly eleven!” said I, “and I’ve yet to finish packing.”

“Well, what’s one more hour?”

“I don’t wish to make a bad first impression on your sister’s family, by missing the train.”

“Hm… I suppose that is a good point,” he sighed.

I raised my free hand, and slowly combed my fingers through his black curls. He closed his eyes for a moment. Then, suspecting I would not reach the door until daylight if I stayed an instant longer, I gently pushed him aside, and got to my feet. Raffles followed me to the hall, and idly stood by as I dressed.

“I will see you tomorrow, then,” said I, when my scarf was safely tucked in, and my coat properly buttoned up.

“I’ll have a cab by your place at nine-thirty.”

He held my eyes for a second. Then he closed the distance between us and, swiftly taking it between both of his, raised my gloved hand to his lips, and kissed it fervently.

“Keep warm—it’s cold tonight,” was all he said.

 

* * *

 

The next morning was spent rushing through a shimmering landscape. A timid sun broke through a thinly woven blanket of rosy clouds, casting magic over fields and groves that the snow had laid to rest, and washing away every memory of the busy city. We had the compartment to ourselves, and put out feet up on the seat; I dozed off for a time, dreaming of candlelit rooms and warm fires, and woke to the touch of Raffles’ leg against mine and a whisper that we were nearly there.

At the station, a sleigh was waiting for us accompanied by an elderly man in working clothes, and a small child whose dark-blonde braids stuck out under a large knitted hat. Upon seeing us, the girl gave a joyful jump, and ran forward with a squeal.

“Uncle Artie!”

“Well, well, well,” said Raffles, laughing. “I see they have sent a stranger to greet us! And here I thought Ellie would be waiting for me as usual!”

“But it is me!” cried the girl, stopping in front of us.

“It can’t be! Ellie is only five!”

“No, I’m six now!” laughed Ellie, and tugged on Raffles’ hand.

“You don’t say!”

He swept her up in his arms, and she swung her legs around his waist, beaming with joy.

“I’d like you to meet a very special friend of mine,” said Raffles then, and turned to me. “This is Mr Manders.”

Ellie turned a pair of bright eyes on me, and I smiled. She bit her lip, suddenly shy, and said:

“How do you do, Mr Manders?”

“How do you do.”

“Are you the writer?”

“Yes—I suppose I am,” said I, a little surprised.

“Can you tell stories?”

I looked at Raffles, who encouragingly raised his brows.

“Of course I can,” said I, and smiled.

Ellie turned to Raffles again.

“I like him,” she said in a half-whisper. Raffles laughed, and kissed her cheek.

 

* * *

 

After a lively sleigh-ride, we finally found ourselves in front of the door of the house belonging to parson Hartwright and his family. It was a sturdy brick house with a small stable, and a sleeping apple garden hinting behind trimmed hedges. Two boys, about nine and eleven, came running out the door as we arrived; their mother followed, and Raffles hurried to greet her. He lifted her off her feet embracing her, then kissed her on both cheeks, and she laughed.

“And this must be the famous Mr Manders!” said she, as I followed up the steps to the door. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you—Arthur speaks of you all the time.”

Slightly blushing, I glanced at Raffles; but he only beamed happily at us both.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mrs Hartwright,” said I, shaking her hand.

“Oh please, call me Emily!”

“Oh, well, in that case—call me Bunny.”

Emily Hartwright was a tall and handsome woman in her mid-thirties. She had the same elegant posture as Raffles, and raven hair that strayed loose around her head; but her shin was sharper, and the nose longer. For a second she looked me up and down with eyes that, though they were a deep shade of brown, held the same intensity as those I knew so well; then she nodded, and smiled contentedly.

“I can tell you are a decent fellow, Bunny. It’s nice to know there is someone to keep an eye on my brother in the city—who knows what he gets up to in that place. Oh, Arthur,” she continued, with a weary look at Raffles, who had just removed his hat, “I wish you would do something about that hair—it’s not decent.”

“She says that every time, out of principle,” he winked.

“Well, someone has to. Oh, and here is Cathy too!” she continued when a girl of about fifteen appeared, with a small child in her arms. “Lunch will soon be ready, and we have prepared rooms for you upstairs. John will be along shortly, he had some things to attend to at the church… please, come in, make yourselves at home.”

Making oneself at home was an easy thing at the Hartwrights. The house was not extraordinary or luxurious, and far from the society homes of London; but it had everything you could ask for, and was, to me, the very idea of a caring and well-managed home. I readily found myself liking both it and its residents. John Hartwright, who slipped in half-way through lunch still wearing his service clothes, was a small and pale man who radiated tranquillity, and who—when he did so—spoke wisely and directly. The respect and tenderness between him and his wife was clear in every gesture, and in every exchanged look. Adeline, a round-faced three-year-old with golden curls and sapphire eyes, at first hid her face and refused to look at either of us; but by tea time she was comfortably settled on my lap, with Ellie next to us, ready for me to read fairy tales from a well-worn book. Henry, the youngest boy, quietly sat down to listen; he was much like his father, calm and thoughtful, with a pale complexion and intelligent eyes. His brother, James, was the opposite: talkative and confident, and liked to act older than his eleven years. Both Cathy and he proved their kinship to the great bowler during the afternoon snowball fight, where they teamed up and had (nearly) everyone duck for cover when they fired one perfectly aimed ball after another. Cathy was not only a spitting image of Raffles himself, with the same piercing eyes, and the same dark curls framing a striking face; but there was a wit and a playfulness about her that nearly had me thinking I was back in my school days.

“I can’t wait for cricket season to begin again,” she said, as we were gathered around the table that night for a festive dinner. “It thrills me so much to read the scores, and to see uncle’s name in print next to it. I only wish I could be there myself to see it in real life!”

“That can be easily arranged—as soon as your mother decides to send you to London,” said Raffles, with a meaningful look in his sister’s direction.

“I do not think we shall have that any time soon,” said Emily, with a frown.

“Of course you will.” Raffles retorted. “Cathy would do wonders with the London society.”

“I hardly think she would fit in.”

“That is exactly my point.”

He winked at Cathy, who beamed. Emily only shook her head, and turned to me.

“We have enjoyed your writings, Bunny. May we expect more in the new year?”

“Oh,” said I, glancing at Raffles, “I’m not really sure. I might take a little repose—inspiration, and all that, you know,” I added with a nervous laugh. “It may not seem like it, but it is quite hard work.”

“That sounds perfectly reasonable,” said John Hartwright. “One must not forget to tend to other aspects of life. You have a bright mind, young man, and you should take well care of it.”

“Thank you,” said I, and Raffles’ hand briefly pressed mine under the table.

The rest of the evening was spent in idle conversation. I found myself mostly listening, almost dreamingly, while the food and drink and the events of the day settled me into a state of blissful relaxation. Nothing was expected of me, at last, except my presence. I watched the children go off to bed, one by one; and at last it was time to retire for the night.

“Bunny,” Raffles whispered, as I was about to close the door to my room.

He looked down the hall, then took my hand.

“Meet me here later, will you? An hour from now?”

“Alright,” said I, and he went off to his room with a smile.

I made my toilet, and changed my clothes for a nightshirt. Then I lay on top of the sheets, and let the golden watch count the minutes until the hour was up. I put on my slippers and my robe, and as quietly as I could snuck out the door. Raffles was waiting for me at the top of the stairs, with a candle and a box of matches, which he handed me; then he put his finger to his lips, and took my hand. Like so many times before, and yet, as for the very first time, we descended the stairs in a sleeping house. Raffles lead the way to the sitting-room where we lit the candles—Raffles even lit a few in the tree, so that the ornaments glittered and shone, and the angel twinkled from the top—and sunk down upon the sofa.

“Are you sure we won’t wake anyone?” I asked.

“Only Cathy is a light sleeper; but I imagine even she will be fast asleep after that dinner.”

His eye twinkled, and he added teasingly:

“Just let the piano be, and we’ll be safe.”

I pretended to take offence at the remark, and Raffles laughed and dragged me close at last. Then our eyes met, and the mood changed. Our lips had not touched since the stolen moment on the Westfield terrace—a fact that had been present ever since, but that at once seemed very prominent. Now Raffles’ hand was on my waist once more, his other stroking my hair, and his breath brushing the skin on my face. I raised my hand to cup his cheek, half intoxicated; I traced his cheekbone, his jawline, and finally let my thumb stroke gently over his lip. His breath grew heavy; and I finally leaned in, and kissed him. I cannot say how long it lasted: all I knew was the sweet scent of his breath in my mouth, his nose brushing mine, lips and tongues tracing and exploring—until he put his hand on my chest, and pulled away with a sigh. Not willing to let go, I leaned in to place one last feather light kiss on his lips; then we settled on the sofa, curled up like two children, and Raffles took my hand firmly in his own. He did not let it go for one moment as we sat there in the quiet night, with the candles burning low, and the stars shining through the window; he pressed it, and stroke it, and intertwined our fingers as we talked about all and nothing, and of dim yuletide memories from childhood days; and when the clock struck, as it always must sooner or later, he kissed my fingers one by one.

 

* * *

 

While Raffles put out the candles, I waited in the doorway to the hall, and listened for any sound. Soon the children would come down the stairs, filled with apprehension and joy; the dawn would break, the bells would ring; and when night soon enough swept over the world again, a thousand candles would be lit in a thousand homes over a thousand joyful dinners. Now, all was silent. I turned to see Raffles put out the last candle; then he turned to me, and a smile of mischief lit up his face.

“What?” I whispered; but instead of replying, he slowly strode up to me, and lifted my chin with his finger.

The kiss was briefer; but gentler, and all the more sweeter. He stroke my cheek, and smiled warmly at my slightly confused expression.

“I always try to be a law-abiding citizen whenever I’m at Emily’s house,” he whispered, and looked up to the ceiling.

When I followed his gaze, I saw the branch of mistletoe that Cathy carefully had placed there after lunch. Raffles laughed quietly, and I silenced him with another kiss. Then we ascended the stairs, as quietly as we had come.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Bunny,” he whispered, when we reached my door.

“Good-night, A. J.”

He pressed my hand.

“Sleep well.”

When I crept into bed, I fell asleep instantly, and slept soundly until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and Merry Christmas -- let's keep it all year ;) ♥
> 
> The comment about the piano was in reference to The Rest Cure. I just love that moment because it is so *Bunny*, and I'm sure Raffles laughed fondly at it later, when he no longer had reason to be upset.
> 
> ______________________________
> 
> "Jul, jul, strålande jul  
> Sänk dina vita vingar  
> Över stridernas blod och larm  
> Över all suckan ur människobarm  
> Över de släkten som gått till ro  
> Över de ungas stagande bo  
> Jul, jul, strålande jul  
> Sänk dina vita vingar."
> 
> Transl.  
> "Yule, yule, brilliant yule  
> Lower your white wings  
> Over the blood and alarm of the battles  
> Over every sigh from man’s chest  
> Over those families who have gone to rest  
> Over the young ones’ steadying nest  
> Yule, yule, brilliant yule  
> Lower your white wings."


End file.
